In The Hands of the Gods
by Abstract Wonder
Summary: For Curran, getting involved in Atlanta’s mess of supernatural politics is a responsibility. For Kate it’s just inevitable.
1. Rituals and Runaways

**Summary: **For Curran, getting involved in Atlanta's mess of supernatural politics is a responsibility. For Kate it's just inevitable.

**A/N:** Slightly AU-ish. Set several weeks after the conclusion of Magic Strikes, and operates under the assumption that Kate had never issued a naked-dinner invitation (this is the AU element).

**Disclaimer**: I am not, and never will be, Ilona Andrews.

**Warnings:** Spoilers for everything up to Magic Strikes.

Prologue

_It was not death, for I stood up,_

_And all the dead lie down;_

_It was not night, for all the bells_

_Put out their tongues, for noon._

She has waited years. Beaten, captured, caged like an animal. They mock her from the wrong side of iron bars.

Since you like the dead so much, they taunt, we can help you join them…_forever_. Their laughter grates against her ears, and she hates them with a fiery, burning passion. Her rage is as boundless as the skies, and as tumultuous as the sea. She understands Wrath. And she embraces it, bathes in it, pulls it to the darkest places of her heart. It sustains her, and she feeds it with the cruelty of her captors.

She promises herself vengeance. Perhaps she does have some knack for death, and what lies beyond, but she is not yet ready to join their ranks. They will get no satisfaction from her; she watches them with stony eyes and a blank face. She will not die until she sees these men screaming. She will not give in until they beg. And so she finds Pride knocking at her door, dressed misleadingly in the guise of Justice. She steps back to let it in.

When they cannot make her speak, they take away her food. Water follows quickly after, and suddenly the burning in her heart is overwhelmed by the burning in her throat. She clings desperately to the knowledge that they will feed her eventually, they cannot afford to let her die. Not yet. But despite this knowledge, she knows the truth. This is hell, and God has abandoned her. Acedia creeps into the corners of her mind, slowly diffusing inward. She lets it be.

She is jealous of their freedom. They have decided, when starvation yielded no results, to continue feeding her. They send someone new each day—she knows; she memorizes their faces. She turns her head away when they leave, because watching them walk away makes her heart ache. She checks the tips of her fingers and toes for any hint of green. Nothing. If she had a mirror she would look behind her ears. Envy makes a fine playmate for Wrath, who welcomes it like a lover. She lets the two frolic together; it would be cruel to separate them.

_It was not frost, for on my flesh_

_I felt siroccos crawl,—_

_Nor fire, for just my marble feet_

_Could keep a chancel cool._

Something is happening to her, she realizes, as she traces the familiar lines of the prison wall. An unfamiliar power stirs just beneath her skin. And then one day, she knows. They are taunting her again, and have placed the tray with her food just out of reach. She tugs impatiently at the chains that bind her, and lies flat on her stomach. She stretches out her arm and can almost reach. Her fingertips brush steel. She sits back and takes a deep breath. The tray shoots toward her, and she is so surprised she hardly catches it. Magic. She smiles, and the motion strains muscles left dormant for too long. It is like a door is opened in her mind, and as she walks through, she bumps into Hope, who is stretching as if after a long sleep. This kindles a different spark in her belly. She has no difficulty recognizing Lust when it gives her a gruesome smile.

She does not delay. It seems she is more than what they imagined, and far greater than they had feared. She breaks the prison bars with only a thought, and spares not even that to kill the guards. They aren't the ones who have imprisoned her, she knows, but they are tainted with the same brush. No, those men will suffer before they die—and even then they will belong to her. When she kills the other inmates, she does not even try to rationalize. She needs no justification, she has the power, and who are they to refuse her? She is the Queen of the Dead, and she will take their lives for herself. Greed agrees, and she wonders when it got there. Then she dismisses the matter, and turns back to her killing.

When there is nothing left to bleed she takes her leave, and leaves in return only ashes. The flames that mesmerized her have now all burned out, but no matter. She carries their eternal reflection in her heart, their shape is imprinted on her soul. And then she does what they had nearly killed her for. She calls the dead. They come. It is not enough, and she calls again. The earth tears and shakes, echoing with the sounds of their footsteps. More. She can see nothing but their faces now. She does not deny Gluttony as it slips past her to join its sisters.

_And yet it tasted like them all;_

_The figures I have seen_

_Set orderly, for burial,_

_Reminded me of mine_

* * *

Chapter 1

I was not in a particularly good mood.

It was twelve thirty on a Friday night—or was that Saturday morning?—and I was still working a job that didn't seem like it had any answers at all. The fifteen year old son of an up and coming politician had been kidnapped from his home just outside Atlanta. This was two days ago, and the police hadn't turned up any leads.

The real mystery, though, was why they thought hiring _me_ would help solve their problem. Killing monsters and cutting their heads off was more my forte, and Ted knew it.

Probably he'd just gotten pressure from higher-ups to show some kind of support for the case, and he didn't want to waste any of his _real_ knights' time. Bastard.

I sneezed and shifted, tilting the front seat of my car back as far as it would go. I hate stakeouts, but I'd followed the breadcrumbs, and they led me here.

Now what, exactly, the leader of the coven dedicated to the goddess Eris had to do with the kidnappings was beyond me. But the last place the kid had been seen was going to this house. So here I was.

The smell of incense wafted from the house, and a low chant went up. They were speaking in very precise, old-fashioned Greek. Not cutting any corners, but I hoped they weren't planning a summoning tonight. I wasn't in the mood to break any charmed circles, or banish an accidental demon.

The chanting grew louder, but I didn't feel the tug of magic against my skin. I was to be spared their foolishness tonight, at least.

Something rustled in the bushes not two feet away, and I whipped my head around to stare at it. A woman emerged, leaves tangled in her tousled blonde hair, her feet bare. She wore a white dress that swirled about her knees as she walked forward, face set into lines of unwavering determination.

I looked back at the house. This wasn't a summoning. It was a sacrifice.

_Shit._

Screw the case. If the boy was in there, I would pull him out myself. If he was involved…

He wasn't. He better not be.

The blonde woman tugged open the door to the house and stepped in. I dashed after her, catching the door before it closed and slipping inside. She was gone, but I caught a glimpse of blonde hair and white skirts disappearing around the corner at the end of the hall. I drew Slayer and crept after her.

I saw her again, one foot over the threshold leading to yet another room. The room where the ritual was being performed, if the bloody runes scratched into the doorposts were any indication.

"Wait," I told her.

Her back stiffened, and she turned her head to look at me. Ice blue eyes took my measure, slowly and precisely, and flicked away unsatisfied. "Your presence is not welcome here, shaman." And she stepped through the door.

I blinked, then followed. Ungrateful girl. I stepped into the room, and the scent of magic hit me like a sucker punch. My eyes watered. They must have had some heavy duty containment spells…yep, there in the four corners of the room, and the middle of the ceiling. No wonder I hadn't felt anything before.

There was a moderately sized cluster of people; maybe a dozen or so. Traditional ritual symbols and artifacts were strewn haphazardly across the floor, and everyone wore morbid black robes. All eyes were turned to the girl, who stood out like a beacon in her thin white dress. She stepped into the rough, chalk drawn pentagon, cautiously not smearing the lines. The smoking candles placed in a careful circle around the pentagon flared suddenly to life.

"Faithful," she said in a low voice, addressing the group. "The goddess is angry."

A low murmur went up, spreading like wildfire. She let them whisper for a few moments, eyes serene, until they fell silent.

"She is angry," she continued, "and I have been sent to do her work. You have called, and I have come."

A pulse of compelling magic went out from her. This was getting weird. Not the ceremony—these things were commonplace all over the city. But I hadn't felt anything with this level of power before. My skin itched, and I wondered if my blood could break the circle.

"Please," one of the people breathed, "show us your power, Goddess-sent."

I rolled my eyes. "Don't encourage her."

A large woman standing beside me, mouth open in wonder, smacked me without looking away from the object of her awe. I rubbed my shoulder and scooted out of reach. "You asked for it."

The blonde smiled beatifically and pointed at the one who spoke. "You doubt? I will provide incontrovertible proof."

The man she pointed at blinked. He sucked in a breath. Then one of the gilded candelabras resting on the makeshift altar behind him rose up and sped toward the man who had spoken. His eyes widened as it clubbed him on the head viciously, and he went down. It hit him again, and his skull cracked. Blood gushed from the wound, and the people closest to him backed away.

"By the goddess!" One of the older women nearby exclaimed, "These shoes were brand new! The blood will never come out."

Insane. All of them. And they had just killed a man in cold blood, in front of me. I shouldered my way through the crowd, reaching into my pocket to pull out my badge. The blonde in the circle narrowed her eyes as I approached. "You were warned, shaman."

"On behalf of the Order," I told her, "I'm taking you into custody. Your charge is as follows: murder without cause, resisting capture would be another. You have the right to remain silent and will be provided with an attorney if you cannot afford one."

Her face was stony. "You are a fool."

She gestured sharply, and spoke three words of power. I shuddered as the magic flashed. But it wasn't aimed at me. I raised an eyebrow at her. Then something cold and slick grabbed my ankle and tugged.

I went down, and found myself staring into the wide-open eyes of the dead man. He wasn't looking quite as dead as he had five minutes ago. He let go of my foot, face impassive, and reached for my neck. I'd replaced Slayer upon entering the room, but I pulled it out again now, and decapitated him with a swift stroke.

His hand kept coming. I scrambled to my feet. The crowd around me murmured.

"It is the truth!"

"She is the chosen!"

Fools. They were next, and they went willingly like sheep to the slaughter. I stabbed Slayer into the dead man's heart, and sliced downward. The two parts of his corpse separated, and fell. The body twitched, still wriggling in an attempt to grab me.

I raised my eyes to meet the eyes of the blonde.

"Necromancer."

She smiled, and her ice eyes shone. "Run."

Like hell. I bared my teeth at her in a grin, and raised my bloody blade. "Make me."

"With pleasure." She raised her voice and called out to the group of worshippers. "This woman comes into our sacred place and would sever our connection to the goddess."

Someone yelled in outrage, and the faces of those around me seemed to mimic the sentiment. She was inciting them, but the compulsion she was casting was supported by something else; another power. Someone in the room? I looked around. The necromancer turned her face toward me, slowly, dramatically.

"Kill her."

I could taste the magic swirling around me as the crowd surged forward with a roar. Some of them held ceremonial daggers, the others looked ready to rip me apart with their bare hands. Time for plan B. I crouched and quickly smeared my fingers with the chalk they had used to draw their circle. Then I drew on the floor the runes for shielding, one to my left, and one directly in front of me.

They looked surprised when they hit the wall; of course, that was probably because they couldn't see it.

I straightened, Slayer smoking in my hands. The shield bumped my attackers out of the way as I punched through the middle of the crowd, until I passed through the doorway. I turned back to look at the necromancer one last time.

_Soon_, her eyes promised me.

Good. I wasn't finished with her yet, either. But if there was one thing I learned from my father, it was that there was no shame in making a strategic retreat. As long as you planned to disembowel your opponent at a later date.

------

A/N:

(1) The goddess Eris is the Greek goddess of Chaos. We'll hear more about her later on. Some background info, for those who are interested in this sort of thing: she offers the apple of discord to Hera, Athena, and Aphrodite; the one that leads to the affair between Paris and Helen of Troy, that escalates into the famous battle, immortalized in a movie in which Brad Pitt stars.

(2) Yes, the necromancer called Kate a shaman. She is slightly confused as to what kind of magic Kate possesses; Kate does not call ghosts. She can, however, do things such as resurrecting dead heads for interrogation, which is a power the necromancer recognizes.

(3) The poetry in the prologue was Emily Dickenson. We'll see some more of that, too.


	2. Uninvited Guests

Chapter 2

I let down the shield once I was back in my car. My shoulders slumped with relief, and I could feel the beginnings of a pounding migraine behind my eyes. Rune shields were no laughing matter; they were dangerously draining. If you didn't get out of your situation within ten minutes, your rune shield would suck you so dry you wouldn't have enough magic left to light a candle.

And then you were in deep shit.

It had taken me eight minutes to get out of the house. I couldn't feel my legs.

It wasn't until I shoved the key into the ignition and tried to start the car that I realized one important fact: the magic was up.

I swore loudly, and banged out of the car. No one from the house had followed me outside…yet. Great. I was so tired I could hardly see, and now on top of that it looked like I'd be walking home.

"My kingdom for a horse."

Not actually having any kingdom to trade, I started walking.

I made it about three miles before my legs gave out. I collapsed onto the concrete, face first. I briefly considered attempting to get up, but one try was enough to convince me. Besides, the sidewalk wasn't that bad. It was kind of comfortable, actually. I'd just take a quick nap, then be up again…

I was swimming in darkness. Something had jarred me awake; what was it?

A voice that sounded vaguely familiar whispered into my ear, "The big bad merc doesn't look so scary now, does she?"

I tried to make a fist so I could punch him in the face, but my fingers weren't cooperating. Maybe if I could just open my eyes, I could give him a scathing glare. I fought with my eyelids, briefly, and lost.

Someone else said something in a hushed tone, and I felt strong arms lift me up from the cement.

"Nah," the first voice said, "We'll just take her to the Keep. It won't—"

I tried to hold on to the thread of the conversation, but it was like trying to catch smoke with my bare hands. My mind kept slipping. And then I was out again.

--------------

I woke up in a bed, in a familiar room, staring into a familiar face.

"Whats up, doc?"

He snorted and leaned back into his chair. "I'd almost forgotten how amusing you are, Kate. I'd say I've missed you, but I think we saw each other just two weeks ago." His voice was dry, and slightly sarcastic.

I tried to think, but it hurt too much. I shrugged. "Sounds about right."

He made an exasperated noise. "I also seem to remember telling you to _take it easy_ for the next _three months_."

I opened my mouth to argue, and he shot me a frightening look. My jaws snapped shut, and he continued.

"You were brought in here roughly fifteen hours ago, collapsed from magical exhaustion made worse by the additional physical exhaustion. You were covered in blood—not your own, thankfully, though I burned it anyway—and unconscious." His southern accent grew more pronounced as he got angrier. "Not only did you drain yourself, you also tapped into your body's resources. You very nearly undid the healing I performed barely fourteen days ago! Do you have a death wish?"

Sort of. But it involved Roland's death as well, so that probably meant I should keep my mouth shut.

"Sorry," I said, trying for contrite. It didn't fool him.

Doolittle sighed. "Of course you're not. You seemed convinced you have no limits, Kate. I wish you would listen to me when I tell you I can't fix everything. One day I'll be too late, or you'll be too far gone for me to handle."

"I understand. But this is my work, and I chose it." I stared at him, and he looked away first.

"So…who found me?" I asked, casually. I knew damn well who found me. I was hoping Doolittle could tell me how.

Doolittle raised a sardonic eyebrow; apparently, I needed to work on my innocent face. "His Majesty and the Chief of Security. They were responding to a distress call filed by one of the shapeshifters living just outside Atlanta. Pack business," he added, noting my curiosity. "From what I gather, they stumbled upon your car and followed the bloody footprints."

"It was too easy, really," a voice said from the doorway. "We almost didn't bother, thinking it was probably a trap of some sort. Because even you wouldn't be stupid enough to leave the Order's car with your ID in the front seat next to a blood trail."

My back stiffened. Curran came around the side of my bed and nodded to Doolittle. Doolittle bowed his head, gave me a warning look, and skedaddled. Curran looked me up and down. I pulled the bed sheet up a little higher.

He smirked and took Doolittle's chair. Waiting.

"I suppose you've come to gloat? I'll save you the trouble: thank you for saving me. What do you want for it?"

"The Order called for you," he said, surprising me.

"Here?"

"Yeah. Raphael saw us bring you in."

Which meant he probably ran to call Andrea, who told Maxine to get me a leave of absence, who told Ted when they wanted me for a job.

"What do they want?"

He shrugged, unconcerned. "I told them to call back later."

My right eye twitched. I covered both with my hand. It was easier to think if I wasn't looking at him.

"Okay. I have to go, then. Doolittle okayed me?"

"Yes."

I removed my hand and sat up. I was wearing an overlarge white t-shirt, grey sweatpants, and no shoes. My hair was down. I looked like I'd just rolled out of bed—which, in the literal sense, I suppose I had. There'd be laughs in the office for a week.

I slid out of bed, testing my legs. They wobbled, then held. Doolittle was good. Curran stood, too. "You're welcome. We'll call you later, to cash in the favor."

And then he was gone. Asshole. It was really too bad he was so gorgeous. I found my bloody tennis shoes just outside the door, and slipped them on with a grimace. It must have been the blood of the man the necromancer killed. The necromancer. I'd have to do something about her, soon.

I grabbed Slayer from where someone had considerately placed it, leaning against the side of the bed, and headed out. Someone was waiting for me with two horses by the gate.

"Derek." I smiled. He grinned back, eyes sparkling. He'd gotten used to his new look, it seemed, but it still twisted my stomach with guilt every time.

"I brought you a horse," he said, proud.

I lifted an eyebrow. "Curran sent you to accompany me?"

He nodded, white teeth flashing. I shrugged. "Fine. To the Order, and no further."

"One step at a time," he told me, and swung onto the horse. It shifted uncomfortably, and Derek tightened his grip on the reins. He wasn't the best rider the shapeshifters had to offer, but he made up for it in different ways.

We started off and a steady trot, and I gritted my teeth against the jarring movement.

"So," I started, "how have you been?"

He shrugged. "Well enough. Busy. I've been helping Jennifer a lot lately."

Jennifer was the female version of the wolves' alpha. "Prepping you to take over, eh?"

He just raised his shoulders again, noncommittal. I looked over at him. "I think you'd make a great alpha."

"Thanks."

"No problem."

We rode in comfortable silence to the doors of Atlanta's chapter of the Order. It didn't look like much, from the outside. Which was what they wanted you to think.

"Alright, Derek, here's my stop. Thanks for the company. Send Dali my regards."

He gave me a look. "I'll walk you up."

And then it hit me. I narrowed my eyes at him. "Curran didn't send you to escort me. He wants you to find out what the Order is planning."

Derek froze for an instant, eyes widening. Then he relaxed his shoulders and arranged his expression into a more suitable one of innocent outrage.

I cut him off. "Don't lie to me."

He dropped the act. "Come on, Kate. Just let me come up with you, have a look around. Then I'll get out of your hair."

I sighed. I really was a sucker. "Fine. But only because you don't need more trouble with Curran on my behalf."

Andrea was waiting for us at the top of the stairs. She gave Derek a knowing look, but didn't comment. "They're waiting for you in your office."

"Who is 'they'?" I asked her.

"You'll see."

* * *

"They" turned out to be a man and a woman. The woman was sitting in the chair opposite my desk, back facing the door, and the man slouched in the shadows behind her.

I stepped inside, Derek at my heels. The man turned his head to look at us. His face was pale, as if he came from a sunless climate, and contrasted starkly with hair so black it was almost blue.

"Ms. Daniels?" He asked.

"Yes. And you would be…?"

"His name is Liam." The woman spoke without turning her head. "And I am Adla. Thank you for seeing us on such short notice."

I walked around my desk to get a better look at her. She flicked her eyes to my face, amused. Her skin was dark, like strong coffee, but her eyes were a light grey. Her hair was black, and waved gently down her back.

"Seeing you is no inconvenience," I told her, sitting down, "But you still haven't told me why you're here."

She smiled politely. "We are…searching for someone. A woman. We were told your investigative skills were remarkable."

Whoever told her that deserved to be tarred and feathered. "You want me to find someone. Who?"

"Her name is unimportant, it wouldn't help you even if we knew it. Her power is more significant: this woman is a necromancer. She—"

I held up a hand, cutting her off. "Small and blonde? Blue eyed? Bitchy?"

Adla regarded me cautiously. "You know her?"

Hah. You could say that. "We've met."

She studied my face. "I take it from the look on your face you would not be averse to helping us?"

"Don't agree to anything, Kate." Derek spoke suddenly. He was staring at Liam, eyes golden and lips partially curled back in a snarl.

Liam smiled pleasantly at him, but his black eyes held a hint of menace.

I looked back at Adla. She was eyeing Derek with distaste. "It is not your decision to make, pup," she told him. "Run back to your master, and tell him his interference will not be tolerated. Any deviations from our previous agreement will be dealt with severely."

What? "Derek, what is going on?"

His voice was tense. "Ask her who she is."

"I know who—"

"Not her name, Kate. Ask her who she _is_."

I stared at Adla, and touched my hand to Slayer, tugging it up an inch from the scabbard. Now it would draw more easily should I need it. Which was looking more and more likely as the seconds dragged on.

"Who are you, Adla?"

She smiled again, but this time it was sharp. The temperature of the room dropped ten degrees. "I have already told you who _I _am. You're asking the wrong question."

Her eyes looked hard as steel, but they weren't focused on me. They seemed to be looking _through _me, into something else. I had a sudden sense of déjà vu. A girl in a white dress, with frozen eyes.

I stood up and drew Slayer. Liam tensed. Adla ignored us both.

"Who do you serve?"

Adla's eyes locked onto my face, and it was like being hit by a semi. The power of the blonde girl was like a summer breeze compared to the hurricane that was Adla.

This woman could tear me apart, I realized, dazed. She could level mountains, if she chose. She could ruin cities, destroy armies…reshape the world.

"Adrasteia," she breathed.

The images swimming in my mind changed. I could see the executioner's blade. A sword shone like a beacon in the darkness as it swung. Something hit the ground with a wet smack.

I sat down with a thump. Derek growled low in his throat. The events of last night flashed before my eyes. Sacrifice. Anger. Power. Fear. Faith.

"Will you take an m-scan?" I asked her, surprised by the steadiness of my voice.

Her eyes snapped back into focus, and the horrifying ocean of power was gone. A faint sense of exhaustion remained. She was just a woman again, and one who needed my help. "Is that really necessary?"

Not really. Not after what I'd just witnessed. "I do have one question, though, before I agree to anything."

She inclined her head and I continued. "With that kind of power at your disposal, what do you need me for?"

She let out a short bark of laughter, almost like a release of tension. "What an excellent question. It deserves a better answer than I can provide, I'm afraid. Suffice it to say that, while the goddess has power, she is bound by certain…rules. One of those involves distancing herself from the affairs of mortals not sworn to Service. Our target has hidden herself amongst the ignorant; I cannot find her."

Just to make sure, I said, "So you want me to find this girl, capture her, bring her to you, and you'll hash it out together? _Away_ from Atlanta?"

"Exactly. I would remind you that this woman is not only receiving backing from a notoriously violent goddess, but that she is also a necromancer. Finding her _quickly_ would be in everyone's best interests."

I sat quietly, putting off the inevitable. Why did this kind of trouble always have to find _me_? What had I done to offend Fate so much that she couldn't give me a month's peace?

"Fine. I'll do it."

* * *

A/N: Okay, and the plot begins to emerge. This is kinda fun :) Oh, and for those who weren't sure, yes, this is a Curran/Kate story. The pair is too cute to keep apart.

(1) Adrasteia is the goddess of vengeance or retribution, otherwise known as Nemesis.

And by the way, looking at Liam's description, can anyone guess where he comes from? It will become more apparent in further chapters, but I'm curious.


End file.
